


maybe you could devastate me

by matskreider



Series: tumblr prompts [3]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Demon Hunters, M/M, Trans Male Character, trans!Brad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 14:11:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13249884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matskreider/pseuds/matskreider
Summary: a collection of patrice/brad prompts cross posted from tumblr. each chapter is marked with the au that it belongs to.





	1. normal verse: adjustments

“I swear to fucking god I’ve never gotten hit this much in my entire life. The season’s not even over! What the –  _ow_.”

“Stop squirming,” Patrice mumbles, putting the new bag of ice on Brad’s ribs. “You’re right though. It is weird.”

“Oh really, ya think so?” Brad asks. Pat levels him with a flat look. It’s not quite a glare, but approaching one, and Brad huffs and looks back at the TV. “It’s bullshit.”

Pat just hums in agreement as he swaps out the soaked towel for a new one, in some half assed attempt to save the couch from water damage. He collects the dirty mugs and bowls from the coffee table and walks into the kitchen, dumping them into the sink. He can hear Brad trying and failing to not shift on the couch, but with the IcyHot on his shoulders and the additional bags of ice on his hips, he probably felt stuck. He grabs him and Brad some water before going back into the living room, sliding the bottle into Brad’s outstretched hand. “Save some energy for tomorrow.”

“I don’t even know if I’m going to go at this point. Might ask to be a healthy scratch and see what happens when the Ducks have to play a game with actual skill. There’ll be just as many fucking fights and it won’t be my fault because I won’t even be there. Yet, somehow I’ll still be blamed. Quack quack you feathered pieces of shit.”

This time, Pat is the one who sighs. Brad doesn’t mean it, he never does. Being a healthy scratch is one of the worst types of punishment for someone who just needs to  _keep going_  as much as Brad does. He’d never ask for such a thing, and Pat knows he won’t this time either. But this type of meanness comes from a deeper place of hurt – a place Pat’s not sure Brad will let him see.

There’s a moment of silence, a Honda commercial providing background noise, before Brad looks over at Patrice. Well, he turns to face him, but his gaze remains downcast. “…Sorry. About that.” He doesn’t say much else, but Pat knows how to read between the lines.

“Apology accepted.” It wasn’t warranted, but saying “it’s okay” after Brad apologizes doesn’t sit well with the winger, it never had. It was a habit Patrice had to learn to break when he first met Brad, and still sometimes messes up on occasionally.

“Don’t even know why you bother, honestly,” Brad mumbles, taking a sip of his water. At that, Patrice gets up and goes over to Brad, kneeling by the couch arm.

“Brad. Look at me,” he gently implores, resting his hand on Brad’s chest, the only uninjured part of his torso. “Everyone gets pissy when they’re hurting. Especially when it’s not their fault, okay? I know you’re…I’m not going to hold it against you. I’m not going to leave you. Got it?”

Brad looks at him with furrowed brows. He says nothing, and Patrice just looks at him with an open expression. He was going to say something further, but the elder of the two kisses him before he can start down the self-deprecation path again. Brad doesn’t say anything further, but he doesn’t have to. The simple way he relaxes into the kiss says enough.


	2. college au: guardian angel

Coming out happens less with a bang, less with a whimper, but more with a couple keystrokes and the enter button. For the first couple of days, he’s fine. Classes go on as normal. The people who didn’t talk to him before, don’t suddenly start talking to him. Acquaintances don’t really make an effort, and a couple stop talking to him completely, which, whatever. They were acquaintances for a reason.

If he remains pretty vacant on social media for the first couple of weeks, it’s just because he’s waiting for the fallout. And it comes, in the shape of his friends list dropping by a good 50 people, and being removed from some group chats. It’s better than he was expecting though – at least there’s no slurs carved into his door this time.

It’s after fall break that everything gets fucked. Through some school drama, Brad’s poetry professor quits and the section is dissolved, leaving him without his needed fifth class. He panics, and genuinely is kinda pissed off – he really liked Professor Lucic – but he somehow winds up stuck in an Econ class.

The first day is fine, he arrives a few minutes early so he can get the necessary paperwork signed. His professor seems nice, and Arielle is a pretty name, and she assures him that they’ll find a way for him to make up the work from the first couple of weeks of class. He takes a seat along the windows, and waits.

It seems like every white guy on campus just lives in the Econ department, as evidenced by the class demographic. He says nothing, a tall order for him, just listening to how the class operates. It doesn’t escape his notice that he’s left with empty seats around him, and as Arielle calls on people to answer questions and contribute, he recalls a couple names that had disappeared from his feed after he’d had to block them for harassment.

Thirteen minutes into the class, and he’s already considering switching out, but the door opens revealing possibly the best and worst plot twist ever.

“Sorry I’m late, Professor,” Patrice breathes as he closes the door behind him. “Office hours ran late.”

“Who has office hours in the middle of the day?” she asks, taking the offered note and sticking it to her podium.

“Bio professors are weird, what can I say?” he counters, before he takes a seat next to Brad. Not in front of him or behind him, where he could have avoided talking to him. But directly to Brad’s right. He gives him a sunny smile as he sits down, and Brad wants nothing more than to melt into the floor.

The same guy that Brad had been crushing on for the better part of two years was now sitting next to him, with the same humbly perfect  _everything_  that makes Brad want to tear his hair out. The guy that was alternate captain of the men’s hockey team, who also made insightful comments and  _actually_  did the readings in Brad’s Feminist Literary Theory course he’d taken as a freshman (which, that was a lot.) The guy whose name, by virtue of starting with a B, had always been at the top of the allies list since Brad had come to college. Brad hadn’t said more than two words to the guy since that year, and now Patrice was a senior and he was a junior, and time was running out.

At least it was just one semester, right? And him sitting there was just a fluke, because he was so late. It was obvious that his normal spot had been left open, wedged between two guys who looked like their names should have been Chad and Chuck, respectively. But instead, he’d gone for Brad.

And he keeps doing it, despite the obvious distasteful looks he gets from his classmates. He does it for weeks on end, never initiating conversation, but also pleasantly returning conversation whenever Brad tries.

It’s their last class before the American Thanksgiving break, and Brad can’t help it. He scribbles,  _why do u keep being nice 2 me?_  on a piece of paper, and slides it over to Patrice. His answer comes back relatively quickly.

_Would you like for me to stop?_  From anyone else it would come across as flippant, but it just reads as polite earnestness coming from Patrice. Brad muffles his laugh, and writes back,  _b/c no1 else is. mad sus bro_

He watches out of the corner of his eye as Patrice pinches the bridge of his nose, but he can’t stop the smile. This answer takes a fair bit longer, and when he gets it, he feels his smile sliding off his face.

_Because you’re funny and I like humor. And I’m only taking this class because my dad asked me to, not much else. Apparently I have a math brain. Also…I ~~hate~~  can’t stand how they’re looking at you. Just letting them know that you’re not alone is enough to get them off your back, in most cases._

Brad doesn’t respond, but after class, they linger just long enough that they have the classroom to themselves at the end. “Think they’re gonna jump the queer?” Brad mumbles as he jams his notebook into his backpack.

“If they did, they’d have to jump us both,” Patrice answers with what Brad can tell is forced nonchalance. Brad freezes, just looking at Patrice as the latter continues to pack up. “And I like to think the boys would have something to say about that, on both accounts.”

“….oh.”

“Yep.”

Patrice finally looks up, and Brad finds himself laughing, whether he meant to or not. “I…wow, okay. That puts things in perspective.”

Patrice rolls his eyes, zipping his bag up. “Come on, I want some coffee. You going anywhere for break?” By the time they have their coffees, Brad has plans to crash at Patrice’s apartment for the break, since dorms are no place to be living when you have another option handy. Brad catches himself looking at Patrice more than he had previously allowed himself, but that’s okay.

Patrice is looking back.


	3. incubus & demon hunter au: the truth

Patrice is hungry.

Brad can sense that from across the bar, even without trying to. No matter how polite and restrained he was raised to be, there are some things he can’t hide. Not from Brad, not from someone trained to hunt down demons like Patrice. This bar is full of dulled souls, and not for the first time Brad wishes he were one of them. That he’d been able to skip out on this whole “being Earth’s inter-realm janitor.” There were cooler names for it, Hunter being at the top of the list, but really, that’s what he was.

He takes another sip of his drink and surveying the room. He hates that he already knows that no one here is Patrice’s type. Another misconception, that incubi were just blindly driven by instinct. Of course they could alter their appearances to lure in different types of people, but most of them had a distinct taste.

The leftover taste of cherry bitters clings to Brad’s tongue as he sets the glass and a five-dollar bill down on the table. The bartender gives him a nod as he vacates his seat, but his eyes track him as he moves down the bar.

“Hey, I think I’m gonna head back. Kinda getting late, and I’m shot,” he informs Patrice as he comes up beside him.

Patrice, who had also been surveying the room with furrowed brows, smooths his expression as he looks down at Brad. “Wait, already?”

“Pat, it’s 11 o’clock. I just got back from a hunt, like, two days ago. Cut me some slack.” He’s aiming for light hearted, but it comes across as bitter, and he knows it shows in his tone. Sue him for not having enough social skills to know how to make a smooth exit to a demon.

Patrice frowns, his brown eyes briefly turning gold, before settling back down again. “Alright. I’ll go with you, maybe find something else on the way.” And with that, he’s out the door, leaving Brad having to follow him.

As the Hunter walks out the door, he’s immediately hit with a wave of lust so strong he has to stifle a groan. He glares up at Patrice, who’s looking in his direction. Probably through the window behind him. Brad takes a breath and starts walking up the sidewalk, doing the best he can to walk normally.

Patrice materializes next to him, and Brad rolls his eyes. “What the hell was that?” he growls, not looking up.

“…You know what-”

“Yes, of course I know what it was, I meant,” Brad sighs as he comes to a stop at the crosswalk. This late at night there’s less people around, and he’s also unsure if Patrice is doing that thing where he’s invisible but Brad can still hear him, or if he’s actually visible. He doesn’t want to add to the stereotype of Hunter’s being out of their mind. “I meant why did you do that outside of the bar, if the person was inside? I got caught in the crossfire, and this isn’t exactly comfortable.”

When he dares to look at Patrice, he sees the demon looking at him with furrowed brows and a sort of…genuinely confused expression. “Brad, who did you think I was targeting?”

“Whoever was behind me in the window, and I don’t know why you’re even following me back still, your victim is back that way,” he mutters, crossing the street as the light turns white. This is quite a long time coming, if he’s being honest with himself. Patrice was always so careful to keep his conquests from Brad, especially if they went out together – Brad for human company and drinks, Patrice for an attempt at dinner. Why, three years into their friendship, and only a couple of months after Brad realized that he had  _dangerous_  feelings for Patrice, did he decide to go completely off script?

Patrice doesn’t reply, so Brad just continues on. They’re at his apartment now, and if Patrice really didn’t want to talk, he would disappear. It wouldn’t be the first time. “I mean, it’s one thing if you did it as a joke, but this isn’t the night for that. It’s never the night for it, honestly. You know sex is weird for me, and I thought we were friends, like, warn a guy next time, for shits sakes.”

They get inside, Brad taking off his shoes and shrugging out of his sweater, just standing in his faded Bruins t-shirt. “Are you quite done?” comes from immediately next to his ear, and he jumps, barely keeping himself from attacking him. The rings on his right hand glowed, but cooled as he relaxed. Yet another reason he could never go into the field angry, and yet another example of how Patrice outclassed Brad at every turn.

What comes out is a half assed, “Fuck you,” but the response is what changes things.

“Well, if you insist.”

Brad stares at Patrice, the two of them standing across from each other in Brad’s apartment. Patrice has that stupidly open expression on his face, and Brad feels another wave of lust, this one that he can’t attribute to Patrice. Well, he can, but it wasn’t forced upon him by the demon. “…You’re not serious.”

“You think I waited a month to tell you as a joke?”

“You’re just saying this because you’re hungry.”

“God damn it, Brad, is it so hard to believe that someone would want you?”

“Yes.”

The silence stretches for a minute, before Patrice walks over to Brad, cupping his cheeks in his hands. He’s warm to the touch, as most demons are. “Give me the chance to prove you wrong,” he murmurs. “Please.”

Brad waits for the magic, waits for the compulsory tells of a trance, but he feels nothing, save for Patrice’s hands on his face. “…No magic.”

“No magic.”

“And…I mean, you know that…”

“Doesn’t change anything for me. At this point, a kiss would take the edge off.”

Brad smirks, moving up onto his tiptoes. “I can do that.”

**Author's Note:**

> give a follow on [tumblr](http://matskreider.tumblr.com/) perhaps?


End file.
